


ash and dust

by BansheeLydia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gunshot Wounds, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 11:00:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10555200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BansheeLydia/pseuds/BansheeLydia
Summary: “By the time me and Isaac got to you guys...” Boyd closes his eyes, presses a kiss to the back of Stiles’ hand. “He was crouched over you, covering you. He’d been shot...shit, about a dozen times? But he didn’t move. He was protecting you.”





	

Boyd’s there when Stiles wakes up.

He’s hunched over the bed, hands clasped around one of Stiles’ own. It’s dark and quiet, just the steady beeping of one of the monitors interrupting the silence. Moonlight trickles in through the blinds, pouring over Boyd’s still form, and it helps Stiles to relax again, even as fire shoots through his leg.

He’s been in hospitals enough times that he instantly recognizes the sterile smell and the itchy sensation of the blanket. But he can’t really remember what happened this time to land him here. 

He moves again, trying to ease his discomfort, and a grunt escapes him at the fresh flare of pain. It’s only a quiet sound, but it makes Boyd stir; he sits up slowly, rubbing a hand across his eyes before looking at Stiles.

“Hey,” he says softly, smiling slightly. “You’re awake.”

Stiles smiles back, tired but happy to see his boyfriend’s face. “Yeah. What happened?”

He doesn’t know if the pain is showing on his face, but Boyd strokes his thumb over Stiles’ knuckles, dark veins scoring up his arms as he takes some of the pain.

“You were shot,” he murmurs. “Talking down those hunters didn’t go so well, huh?”

Stiles drops his head back against the pillow. He remembers, vaguely, him and Scott running, his hand locked tightly in Scott’s so he doesn’t trip or stumble in the dark. He remembers the _pop_ of the gun going off and the way it felt like the bullet _slammed_ into his thigh, sending him straight down to the ground, but he can’t remember much after that, just...pain.

He turns his head to look at Boyd. He’s always been pretty quiet, but Stiles can see what he’s feeling in the gentle downturn of his mouth, in the way he’s gripping Stiles’ hand. He’d been worried.

“Where’s Scott?” 

Boyd’s eyebrows pinch together and it hits Stiles that he’s _still_ worried. Anxiety squeezes tight in Stiles’ chest. He doesn’t remember what happened after he was shot, but Scott had been with him and he’d _never_ have left Stiles. 

“Boyd?” he prompts, throat tight.

“By the time me and Isaac got to you guys...” Boyd closes his eyes, presses a kiss to the back of Stiles’ hand. “He was crouched over you, covering you. He’d been shot...shit, about a dozen times? But he didn’t move. He was protecting you.”

The tears in Stiles’ eyes have nothing to do with the pain. “The bullets...?”

“Were wolfsbane,” Boyd confirms quietly. “We got him to Deaton’s. He...we lost him, for a second, but he’ll be okay, Stiles, I promise. Deaton says he’ll heal. He just needs to rest.”

It helps Stiles breathe again, but he wants nothing more than to go to Scott, to see for himself. Scott had let himself get shot over and over to _protect_ Stiles. The thought makes his mouth taste like ash and his heart burn. 

“He was more worried about you,” Boyd adds dryly after a moment.

“He was _awake_?”

Boyd’s mouth tightens. He gives a grim nod. “Barely,” he replies. “Derek told me he passed out after the third wound was treated.”

_Treated_. As in, burned wolfsbane rubbed into the wound. Stiles feels sick. He starts to sit up, needing to go see Scott, to...to just _see_ him. He grits his teeth and Boyd reaches out, gently stilling him.

“Sweetheart,” he says softly, and the rare endearment makes Stiles pause. “He’ll be okay, I promise. But you need to rest.”

“I need to see him.”

“You will. But right now, you can’t even walk.”

Frustration wells up in Stiles’ chest, but he knows Boyd is right. He settles back and they lapse into silence, Boyd holding Stiles’ hand. A nurse comes in shortly after, pleased to see Stiles awake, and he watches quietly as she checks his blood pressure and adjusts his pain relief.

The fresh dose makes Stiles sleepy again, blinking drowsily at Boyd.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “I love you.”

Boyd smiles softly, pushing up to press a tender kiss against Stiles’ temple. “I love you too.”

Stiles wants to say more, wants to thank Boyd for staying with him, but he loses his fight against his closing eyelids.

When he wakes again, it’s to the quiet click of the door closing. He opens his eyes groggily, expecting to see a nurse. 

Instead, its Scott stood at the foot of the bed, watching him. He looks pale and exhausted and a little unsteady on his feet, but he’s _alive_ and he’s here. Stiles almost _sobs_ his name, reaching his hands out and Scott comes closer, bypassing Stiles’ hands to cup his face instead, pressing their foreheads together.

“You worried me, jerk,” he grumbles, thumb stroking over Stiles’ jaw.

“ _I_ worried _you_?” Stiles asks incredulously. “You almost _died_ , you asshole.”

“Wasn’t gonna let _you_ die,” Scott replies simply, bumping their noses together. “How are you feeling?” He smiles when Stiles’ eyes narrow, adding, “I’m okay. Tired, but pretty much healed.”

Stiles strokes his fingers over Scott’s neck, letting the steady pulse against his skin calm him. “I’m okay. Sore and tired.”

Scott presses his lips to Stiles’ jaw, easing his pain, and Stiles relaxes gradually, sleepy but not daring to close his eyes in case Scott disappears. 

“I love you,” he whispers.

Scott’s lips drift up, pressing a brief, sweet kiss to Stiles’ mouth. “I love you too. Always.”

Boyd’s gone and Scott settles into the hideous plastic chair he’d vacated, linking his fingers loosely with Stiles’ as he leans his head back. He’s asleep in seconds and Stiles watches the gentle rise and fall of his chest, letting it lull him back under too.

**Author's Note:**

> written for the shipping with stiles week over at shippingwithstiles.tumblr.com
> 
> I'm currently accepting prompts at allirica.tumblr.com :)


End file.
